Date: Mon, 19 Mar 2012 01:55:37 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus
Subject: "Glaucus of Korinthos" Chapter 3 Gay Male/ Authoritarian and Gay Male/ Historical
GLAUCUS OF KORINTHOS
OR
THE SPOILS OF WAR
Chapter 3: "Enslavement and Crucifixion"
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This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years.
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) March, 2012.
An archive of my stories can be found at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be
used without permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and
don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures"
Chapter 3: "Enslavement and Crucifixion"
Crucifixion: "The cruellest and most disgusting penalty. The extreme and
ultimate punishment of slaves" - Cicero
The goddess, Fortuna has indeed smiled on me. Upon my return to Rome, I
will visit her temple in the Forum Boarium and pay homage to her for her
abundant gifts to me. She has brought me safely through this final war of
my career and now I can retire honourably from my military service to the
Roman Senate and people.
I am the Tribune Flaccus Marcus Bruscius of the patrician class and I can
trace my ancestry back through the mists of time to one of the Founding
Families of Rome six centuries ago. My membership of the 'gentes maiores'
has dictated that I live my life in the service of Rome. My family is of
the Senatorial class and it has a long and proud tradition of providing
senators some of whom have even held the exalted office of princeps senatus
or Speaker of the Senate. And within my lifetime both my grandfather and
father have held the Consulship. From my earliest recollections, I know my
family has the ambition that I too will be a Consul and it has groomed me
for that eventuality.
To that end, I have served in Rome's army and fought in many of her battles
all of which I am proud to say were victorious and added to her prestige
and power. And my booty or the 'spoils of war' from those battles has made
me very wealthy and financially independent of my family.
By an accident of birth, I was born into the ruling class and therefore my
future was pre- ordained by the gods. One day, like some of my ancestors,
I too will be a Senator of Rome.
As a young man I had the choice of two paths leading to the Senate Chamber.
I could serve in an administrative role - and this in no way assured me
that I would sit in that august body - or I could serve in the Army which
could automatically see me become a senator. Family honour and personal
ambition saw me choose the military option.
Mine has been a long and distinguished military career which has brought
dignitas and gloria not just to me but also to my illustrious family. My
rise through the legion was meteoric. I served as a Centurion and later as
the Camp Prefect which saw me promoted to the rank of Tribunis, one of the
six senatorial tribunes in my legion. I was the most senior of the six
tribunes and this placed me second-in-command to the Legate.
However, my chief regret is that our legion isn't fighting alongside those
of Publius Cornelius Scipio -honoured by the Senate with the cognomen
Africanus - in North Africa as he finally destroys Rome's hated enemy,
Carthage.
Instead I find myself in Greece helping in the destruction of Korinthos
about which I have very mixed feelings. As a boy, I'd had a Greek pedagogue
- a slave - who'd exposed me to the Greek language and culture and like so
many Roman patricians I have great affection for all things Greek.
Graecia has given Rome so much. We speak Greek as a second language and
indeed, many of us prefer to converse in it as though it is our mother
tongue. We marvel at her architectural wonders, we debate her philosophies
and we absorb her sciences and the arts. We read her literature and recite
her poetry; in our theatres our actors play out her comedies and Roman
audiences weep at her tragedies. We mimic Greece's magnificent artworks: we
fill our homes with faux Greek sculptures and decorate the walls of our
villas with scenes from her glorious past. We have even stolen her gods and
goddesses; we bestowed upon them Latin names and then added them to our own
pantheon.
So in a sense, it can be said that I love all things Greek almost to the
point where I am more Greek than the Greeks. Therefore this destruction of
Korinthos distresses me. Korinthos is without doubt one of the most
beautiful cities in Macedonia and rivals both Athens and Thebes for beauty
and culture. I watch in dismay at the wanton destruction of her temples,
public buildings and the homes of her citizens.
I have no qualms about seeking out and putting to the sword all those who
dare to defy Rome's edicts or challenge her might. The Achaeans who'd taken
up arms against us are fair targets for Rome's vengeance. But to see
Korinthos's blameless citizens slaughtered without mercy or enslaved leaves
me with a sense of unease.
But our General, Lucius Mummius, appointed by the Senate in Rome to smash
the Achaean League, has decreed that Korinthos is to be punished and made
an example of to all other rebellious Greeks. She is to be depopulated -
her venerable elders put to the sword and her young men, women and children
dispersed to distant slave-markets - and her buildings razed to the
ground. When we have finished our work there will be very little to show
the world where once proud Korinthos had stood.
Her destruction is just a precursor to the fate that now awaits
Carthage. If the Carthaginians were to visit Korinthos and see the fate
that awaits them surely they would be moved to sue for a merciful peace
with Rome. But then, I recall that the Roman Senate and people are in no
mood to bargain with their long time enemy. The Senate will demand the same
cataclysmic destruction of Carthage as the one it decreed for
Korinthos. Soon Carthage, like Korinthos, will be no more.
But Korinthos will arise once more from its ruins. Some one hundred years
from now Julius Caesar will establish a new town, 'Colonia Laus Julia
Corinthiensis' amid Korinthos's ruins and populate it with conscripts and
freed slaves from such faraway places as Italy, Egypt, Syria, Judea and
other parts of Macedonia. But until then, Korinthos will remain a pile of
overgrown ruins inhabited by itinerant peasants and the ghosts of her
slaughtered inhabitants.
It takes time for an all-conquering army to obliterate a city and its
citizens. Inevitably the initial bloodlust of the victorious soldiers is
satiated and the insane slaughter and wanton destruction give way to a more
ordered reality. And so on this, the third day after our entry into
Korinthos, our army moves with cool detachment laying waste to the city and
depopulating it.
Sadly, as I go about my allotted duties, I reflect on that cruel euphemism
'depopulation' and its true meaning. I watch with disquiet as small death
squads of legionnaires scour the burning and crumbling buildings searching
for and summarily executing any surviving supporters of the defeated
Achaean League and its allies. I look on with a measure of disgust as the
elderly, the infirm and the lame are quickly dispatched with a sword thrust
by these same death squads.
How glad I am that this duty didn't fall to me or my soldiers. The duties
that Lucius Mummius has demanded of me and my men is more sanitised but no
less distasteful. I have the duty of seeking out all able-bodied young
Greek men and women suitable for enslavement. Already thousands of new
slaves are herded together at marshalling points where they are stripped
naked, placed in chains and prepared for their shipment to the slave market
on the island of Delos. Korinthos's two harbours are full of vessels
waiting to transport their living cargoes of human misery to this the
biggest and best known of the Mediterranean slave markets.
Lucius Mummius has placed a cordon of troops around the city's perimeter
and its wretched citizens have nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Human
nature is indeed mysterious. Some flee in panic scuttling from one hiding
place to another avoiding the inevitable while others are more fatalistic
and await the arrival of my men who'll round them up and march them off
into slavery.
There is a pattern to this that is almost ritualistic. After capture a new
slave is taken to one of the marshalling areas adjacent to the harbours -
and the waiting ships - where he is quickly processed into his slavery. Of
course the first thing that happens to him is that he is stripped naked and
placed in chains. And usually at this point he is introduced to the
instrument that will define his slavery - the whip.
The soldiers charged with the oversight of the newly enslaved are all armed
with whips which they freely use on their helpless charges. There is no
room in their hearts for pity. They are dealing with Rome's enemies and
the new slaves are to pay the price for that enmity. And so they aren't
spared the lash. This may seem unnecessarily cruel but if considered in the
light of their new lives as slaves it can be seen almost as a kindness.
The whip is an integral part of a slave's life. It will spur him to greater
effort in his labours and it will punish him for his misdemeanours. And the
sooner he feels the whip's fiery bite and feels its fearsome pain the
better able he is to adjust his thinking to his new circumstances.
Once he is stripped and placed in chains, the new slave is questioned to
determine his age, his position in society, his education or any crafts or
other skills that he might possess. Often his answers will define his
slavery. An educated slave or one with some skill usually finds a master
who will use these attributes to his - the owner's - benefit. An unskilled
slave usually finds himself working on agricultural latifundia, in a quarry
or worst of all in the gold mines of Africa or the sulphur mines of
Sicilia.
Finally, together with other slaves similar to him, the new slave is placed
into a group which can number from ten to twenty and sold as a lot to a
slave dealer. As I watch the slavers haggle over the hapless new slaves, I
am reminded of vultures squabbling over carrion. I can ill disguise my
utter contempt for these pedlars of human flesh. They truly are the pariahs
of our society!
And yet, despite my open disgust for all slave merchants, they do serve a
useful purpose; for Rome and her wellbeing depend on a never ending supply
of new slaves. They provide us with the raw, physical energy for the
ploughs of agriculture and the wheels of commerce and they lighten our
lives by serving us in our homes. The educated slave serves as a tutor to
our sons or as a scribe in our business enterprises. The brawny, illiterate
slave carries the litters of his master or mistress through the congested,
narrow streets of Rome and the warlike prisoner-of war entertains us in the
gladiatorial games of our arenas.
Slaves are Rome's lifeblood! Without them Rome would be without her wealth
and her glory.
As I watch these hapless new slaves being whipped down to the wharf and
loaded onto to overcrowded, reeking, sea-going vessels, I wonder how many
are destined for Rome's slave- markets. How many of these wretches will
find themselves in the Graecostadium or Greek slave market so named as the
place where Aemilius Paulus profited from the sale of 150,000 Greek
prisoners sold into slavery after the Battle of Pydna.
They will stand with their legs painted white and with wooden tituli
setting out their nationality, place of origin, age, education, abilities
and either their good or bad points hanging forlornly around their necks. I
know that the skilled slave will sell for twelve times the value of the
unskilled. I know that the surly and the rebellious among them will be made
to wear the pillei skullcap as a sign of 'buyers beware'.
In my mind's eye, I see them subjected to the most degrading of inspections
by prospective buyers. No respect will be shown to them. Their nude bodies
will be pummelled and their muscles squeezed as a test of their fitness. No
concessions to their modesty will be observed as their most private and
intimate parts are minutely inspected.
The more comely youths and virtuous maidens will be spared the horrors of
the open slave market as they are sold privately at the "arcana tabulate
catastae". However, their sense of humiliation will be no less than that of
their less fortunate fellows in the Greek Market. In fact, their shame
could be greater as they are examined and sexually stimulated by the
lecherous and the lustful.
How do I know these things? I know because, in the past, I too have
purchased slaves of my own in the Graecostadium.
Rome's continual wars have made me very wealthy. It is a wealth divorced
from the hereditary wealth of my family and it has enabled me to secure an
independent future for myself.
In recent times, I have bought considerable property in Sicilia which will
be the provider of the money to fund my future life of service to the
Senate and people of Rome. Public office carries with it much prestige -
but little or no monetary rewards - and yet as a member of the Senatorial
class I carry on my shoulders the obligation to be of service to the
Republic and the expectation of my proud family that I will add to the
dignitas and gloria of our noble lineage.
Today, Sicilia is new territory ripe for exploitation and with limitless
opportunities for the wealthy entrepreneur. Much of it lies empty as the
Carthaginians and their supporters abandon their farms, homes and
businesses and leave the island to the Romans. Latifundia lie abandoned,
uncultivated and weed infested while the homes of the former elite and
merchants are empty and crumbling. The quarries and mines are without the
slaves necessary to work them and the tree-feller's axe is silent in the
forests. Towns and villages are half-empty and the remaining inhabitants
live in mortal fear of the lawless bands of rebellious slaves who roam the
countryside unchallenged, murdering and pillaging at will.
The god, Vulcan has blessed Sicilia with a deep, fertile soil spewed up
from the bowels of the earth over the millennia which is capable of growing
the wheat that Rome needs to feed her masses. For richness of soil and the
frequency of crops, Sicilia's farms rival the best of those on the slopes
of Vesuvio and around the Bay of Neapolis; and yet on today's value they
are but a fraction of the cost.
Recognising this, I bought three large, adjacent latifundia and combined
them into one in the vicinity of the ancient Greek town of
Tauromenium. Here I plan to grow wheat and olive oil for sale in Rome.
Additionally, I purchased an abandoned marble quarry and a vast tract of
virgin forest which will provide me with marble and timber to be sent to
Rome to supply her insatiable demands for new building materials. And to
transport my farm produce and my marble and timber to Rome, I will use my
own fleet of galleys to carry my produce from Tauromenium to Rome's port of
Ostia.
Once my army duties are finished, it is my intention to settle at
Tauromenium and to consolidate my enterprises thus securing my financial
future for my eventual return to Rome and the taking up of public office. I
estimate that this will take five to six years of hard work on my part.
Tauromenium surprised me on my first sighting of the town. Although founded
as a Greek colony several centuries ago, I'd expected it to be more
provincial than it is. I had expected it to be uncultured and inhabited by
coarse, uneducated peasants. Imagine my surprise therefore when I
discovered a vibrant cultural community centred on the magnificent Greek
Theatre perched high on a rocky crag towering above the town and the
sparkling blue waters of the Ionian Sea which also laps at the shores of
Southern Italia and stretches all the way to far distant Graecia.
I was entranced by the Theatre and its location. If the Greek gods on
mythical Olympus had given themselves the task of creating a location for
Tauromenium's theatre then they have excelled themselves for nowhere else
in my wide travels have I seen a more idyllic spot?
And within a stone's throw of the theatre, I discovered a deserted villa
that is to become my town residence. Obviously abandoned in a hurry, it has
been ransacked by the poorer townspeople and roving bands of lawless
slaves. Stripped of all its furnishings it is just a shell of its former
grandeur.
I'd enquired about it and its former owner and discovered it had belonged
to a rich Carthaginian merchant who'd fled the island for the safety of
Carthage. Given that Carthage is now under siege and inevitably doomed to
fall to Scipio Africanus, there is irony in that. The merchant won't find
safety within the crumbling walls of Carthage. The best he can hope for is
a quick death by the sword thrust of a vengeful Roman soldier or, at the
very worst, to be carried off into slavery.
The local magistrate was a friend of my father's and he enthusiastically
welcomed my plans to settle at Tauromenium. He'd told me I was the type of
young, entrepreneurial Roman settler that Sicilia needed and he'd given me
the empty villa as an incentive to stay. And of course, he'd used his
gubernatorial connections to assist me in buying my farms, the quarry and
the tract of virgin forest for the proverbial song.
I stayed in Tauromenium for several weeks while I finalised my business
dealings and the magistrate had used my army experience in restoring a
measure of law and order to the region. In recent times, the area had been
terrorised by gangs of rampaging ex-slaves, who abandoned by their former
masters, freely roamed the countryside killing and plundering at will.
Indeed, some of my first images upon my arrival at Tauromenium were of a
terrified citizenry and burnt out homesteads. And it has to be said even
the magistrate considered it unwise to venture too far from the safety of
the city's walls.
But gangs of disorganised slaves are no match for the might and precision
of the Roman army and even though the number of troops at my disposal was
small we soon rooted them out from their boltholes and subjected them to
Rome's righteous punishment.
Being slaves - and runaways at that - negated any claims to mercy they
might have hoped for. The mandatory sentence for a slave, who commits the
offences of which they were guilty, is death by crucifixion. And this
unhappy task fell to me. All up I crucified one hundred and thirty seven
male slaves. And an almost equal number of female camp- followers were
returned to slavery
I am ambivalent about crucifixion as a means of execution. Its description
as the 'extreme and ultimate punishment of slaves' is most apt. On the one
hand, I do see that the manner of execution should serve as a warning to
other slaves to behave and submit themselves to their owners. And
crucifixion serves that purpose admirably for there is no more degrading or
so painful a death than for a slave to hang naked on a cross waiting for
Mors to cut the thread that binds him to this life. Yet I'd always hated
working on crucifixion detachments as a soldier. Put simply, it is hard
work to crucify a criminal or a slave.
Despite the inevitability of his fate, the naked victim fights furiously
right up to the moment the spikes are driven through his wrists and
ankles. And having to listen to the vain pleas for mercy and the
heartrending sobs of the crucified can be emotionally taxing. They only
fall silent as the cross is raised skywards when all their energies are
then spent in extending their lives by raising their sagging bodies to
avoid drowning as their lungs fill with their blood.
It always amazes me how, even when nailed to a cross and suffering
indescribable agony, a victim will struggle to stay alive until his very
last gasp. It would seem that life, even to a crucified slave, is a
precious commodity not to be abandoned without a fight. Depending on his
physical endurance, a crucified slave's determination not to give up the
ghost can last for a few hours or even days.
I have heard stories of slaves surviving for almost ten days hanging on the
cross. Popular myth has it that these slaves were regularly given water and
kept alive by enterprising officials who invited bets from gamblers as to
when the slave would finally succumb. Personally, I very much doubt the
truth of the longevity of these lotteries of death. It is hard to imagine
even the strongest slave having the will or the endurance to survive the
horrors of crucifixion over such a protracted period.
The crucified victim's writhing on his cross can be hard to watch even for
the battle- hardened soldier and I derived no pleasure from such cruel
suffering. Alternatively, the victim will draw on his diminishing strength
and use his legs as levers to raise his body to drain the bodily fluids
from his lungs become succumbing once more to the intolerable stress placed
on his tortured body and slumping forward.
The macabre death dance on the crucifix is indeed horrible to watch!
Whenever, I was in charge of a crucifixion, I'd usually take compassion on
the condemned and after a short period of suffering - to satisfy the
dictates of the law - I would break both his lower legs to hasten his
death.
But in this instance, I couldn't extend such mercy. These slaves were
guilty of the most heinous crimes and must pay the full penalty for their
offences. Some would succumb quickly; others would linger for days but all
would die in excruciating agony. Their suffering was to serve as a warning
to all other of Sicilia's slaves to conform or suffer the dire consequences
of their rebellion against Rome's authority.
Nor could I save them from the traditional scourging before
crucifixion. The magistrate was most insistent that the slaves be flogged
with the three thong leather flagrum. However, rather than the cruel
'scorpion', with its knotted pieces of bone and with the sharp hooks at the
end of each thong capable tearing flesh and muscle from the backs of its
unhappy victims, I used a simple knotted scourge.
Even after death, there is no dignity for the crucified. Rome never buries
the victims of the 'unhappy tree' and their sun-blackened, bloated bodies
become feeding grounds for carrion birds and scavenging wild dogs and are
left hanging as a reminder of her intolerance of slave insurrections.
Bearing in mind that the Sessorium or Rome's crucifixion ground was outside
the city walls beyond the Esquiline Gate, I'd chosen my crucifixion site
well away from the town - so that the stench of the decaying bodies didn't
impact on Tauromenium or her citizens - but in an area where I knew other
slaves were hiding. I'd prevailed upon the magistrate to offer a thirty
days amnesty to these remnant bands of runaways conditional on them not
having murdered a free person. If they surrendered within that time their
lives would be spared and if their former owners had fled then they would
be sold to new owners at a special magistrate's auction.
Most of these abandoned slaves were aware that order had been restored and
they left their hideaways deep in the forests and the rock strewn mountains
and surrendered to the magistrate. Few, if any, were returned to their
absent masters and all were sold to new owners for give-away prices.
Needless to say, I took advantage of this and bought some slaves notable
only for their brute strength and put them to work clearing away the debris
of neglect from my farm and preparing my marble quarry for re-opening. And
if they prove satisfactory, I will appoint these same slaves to be my
overseers on the farm and in the quarry.
By the time I left Sicilia to return to Rome, I'd restored law and order to
Tauromenium and its surrounding areas. This was greatly appreciated by the
magistrate who wrote glowing reports of my exploits and forwarded these to
Rome and within the wider community my reputation stood high in public
esteem. Upon my return as a permanent resident of Tauromenium I will be
elevated to the position of their magistrate to replace my father's friend
when he returns to Rome.
When I returned to Rome from Sicilia the Pax Romana reigned over
Tauromenium. I'd acquired my properties and appointed a steward who worked
under the direction of the magistrate to manage my affairs and to begin the
restoration of my newly acquired villa.
I was sorry to leave Sicilia - and I eagerly looked forward to my
return. However, my foremost duty is to Rome and her interests and today
these see me serving in Korinthos.
But Fortuna continues to smile upon me and despite the carnage raging all
around me I have turned this to my advantage.
My farm will require many fit slaves to toil in my fields. Similarly, my
quarry and the forest will require strong slaves to hew the marble and to
fell the trees.
The fall of Korinthos has proved a boon for me. Instead of taking gold and
silver as part of the victors' spoils, I have chosen instead to take as my
booty portion five hundred of the strongest and fittest of Korinthos's
young men as my slaves.
Tomorrow, they are to be loaded on galleys and transport to
Tauromenium. Already, I have written ahead to my steward - and the
magistrate - advising them of the imminent arrival of my slaves and asking
that they be put to work immediately clearing away the debris of the recent
neglect.
And the gods continue to favour me for they have just now delivered into my
hands the young Greek aristocrat, Glaucus and his two Keltoi slaves.
They walk behind me in single file, naked and securely bound with torn
strips of their own clothing.
I have plans for them too.
Glaucus will now serve me as my body slave and minister to all my needs. We
will converse at length in my beloved Greek; he will provide me with the
intellectual and stimulating conversation I so crave and he will act as my
scribe in my business dealings. He will warm my bed on cold Sicilian,
winter nights and he'll lighten my mood as my pleasure slave.
The two Keltoi brothers will also serve me as slaves. The younger one,
Diagoras will serve in my household while the older one, Perimedes will be
my chief overseer with authority over all my other slaves.
And as I look at the deliciously rounded curves of the shapely asses of my
three, new slaves, I see I will have ample opportunity to indulge another
of my Greek inspired predilections.
Greek love!